Swallowing hard, she raced forward. I'm coming, bud, she thought. Her tennies slapped against the stone pavers as she willed her legs faster through streets, over bridges, and alongside canals.
Gwen glanced over her shoulder. So far so good. Speeding up, she leapt over an upturned cart and skidded to a halt.
“Hello human,” the monster sneered.
“You!” she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand.
“I told you we would meet again.” His yellow eyes glowed like hellfire. “Remember?”
Her own eyes grew wide. How could she forget the nightmares? And the evil words he spoke. “I see you do,” Captain Sludge said.
“I told you before,” Gwen said crossing her arms defiantly across her chest. “I'll never sell out my buds.”
The monster bared shark teeth in a sick smile. “Oh, that won't be necessary.”
Was Alex hurt? Or worse? Gwen didn't dare ask.
A pig-nosed creature marched to them and saluted. “Captain, the Deliverer fades.”
“Good job, Corporal. Now on to their precious daughter.” Sludge turned to Gwen. “It seems we didn't need you after all. Your idiot friend stood right in front of our arrows.”
“What do you mean?” Gwen's stomach turned.
“His armor thin. He falls. Blood.” The second Swiney licked his bulbous lips.
Alex wounded? No! Gwen felt her face blanch and demanded, “Where is he?”
“In the Arsenale,” Captain Sludge replied. “But don't go there. It's guarded by hundreds of Condottieri. You'll never get past them.”
“They'll let me in. I'm Alex's friend.”
“Good luck, human. I'm off to celebrate.” The hunchbacked creature turned to go.
She needed to get to Alex. She doubted that even the gods knew how to help him—but she did. After Mom left, Dad got so paranoid about emergencies he made her take advanced first aid classes.
“Captain, the troops are waiting.”
Sludge nodded and took a few slow steps down the alley.
She could save Alex. She knew it, but where was this Arsenale? Venice was such a confusing maze of canals and streets that she'd never find it on her own. Couldn't ask an Artanian who might have orders to capture her. She stared at Sludge's retreating back. He took two more steps, then stopped to adjust his long black cloak.
“Umm, sir.”
“Yes?” He cocked his head to one side but didn't turn back.
“Do you know which way … umm … this Arsenale is?”
“Perhaps.” The sharp spikes on his head bobbed slightly as he spoke. “What would you give for this information?”
What did she have? No weapons. No jewels. Even her pockets were empty. She shrugged.
Sludge did an about face, and in three strides, he was in her face, rotten egg breath blowing down on her. His clawed hand reached out. Gwen recoiled. “You have this,” he said rubbing a slimy hand over her hair.
“My head?” Gwen gulped.
“No.” Sludge guffawed. “Braids. My Lord would be most pleased to have your red locks on his wall.”
Easy-peasy. Gwen didn't care about her hair. She only braided it to keep it out of her face. “Take 'em.”
Sludge pulled something from the folds of his cloak. A glint of steel appeared, and Gwen's throat tightened. What did she just agreed to? The dagger drew near, and her jugular vein pulsed. She held her breath.
Slice. One pigtail floated to the ground. Slash. The other landed at its side. Captain Sludge picked them up and fingered them lovingly. He flattened a few stray hairs with the slime coating on his skin, then tucked them in his cloak pocket. “It is this way. Come.”
Keeping her gaze fixed on Sludge's dark back, Gwen followed, but she never saw the pack of Swineys that shadowed her along the way.
Chapter 56
When Bartholomew ran a hand through his hair, he recoiled. Ouch! His throbbing head felt like it was in a vice, the slightest movement clamping it ever tighter. Probing gently, he discovered a long gash oozing blood.
He blinked. How did he end up in this blistering hot place?
It slowly came back to him. Venice. The Doge's palace prison. Shadow Swine in the corridor.
Gwen! She was in danger. He started to rise, but doubts interceded. It hurts. You'll just mess up again. “No, you are a creator. There is no blood,” he said. “No gash.”
Filth! Germs! Mother's words flashed in his mind. He imagined his head rotting from gangrene.
No healing.
You'll need a scalpectomy.
No, creation.
Growing spots! Infections!
“No!” Bartholomew cried. “I am a creator.” He blinked to force Mother's words from his mind and envisioned himself healed and whole. His head was exactly like before the fall. No blood. No gash. No pain. His hair could have used a comb, but aside from that, it was clean.
He glanced around. The entire courtyard was now in shadow, and he'd have to act fast. Who could he trust? Not Leonardo.
Michelangelo?
Of course! He wouldn't know about Bartholomew's imprisonment; plus, he argued with just about everything Leonardo did.
Figuring that Michelangelo was inside the armory, Bartholomew dashed to it. Sure enough, the old grouch was still passing out crossbows, muskets, and two-handed swords to the Condotierri. “Be careful with that one. Hold it high. Think, soldier, think.” Michelangelo grumbled. He glanced Bartholomew's way and got a quizzical look.
“Hello, Mr. Michelangelo.” Bartholomew waved weakly.
“Why are you here, boy? The battle rages.”
“I kinda need your help.”
“Of course, you do.” Michelangelo said. “You are but a child.”
Bartholomew tried to ignore the comments as he explained what the Shadow Swine said and how Gwen was off alone in the city while an ignorant Alex helped Leonardo.
The lines in Michelangelo's forehead deepened. “There are many ways a Shadow Swine could use a human.”
“I know.”
“But why haven't you sent the other Deliverer a message?”
“I-I…” Bartholomew didn't know what to say.
“What is it? Speak child.”
Bartholomew looked into those dark eyes. There he saw impatience, but he also detected a hint of kindness. Could they be trusted? This man had lovingly sculpted the David and built a fortress to protect Mona Lisa.
“Bah! Time is wasted with children.” Michelangelo turned away and told a Condotierri to call the messenger god Hermes.
Bartholomew's voice was barely a whisper. “Alex didn't believe in me.” He stared at his stained shoes.
“Of course, he didn't. You are but a bambino.” Michelangelo didn't turn around, but Bartholomew thought he noticed his posture softening.
“I might be young, but I can sculpt.”
“Can you?”
“And fight. I am a Deliverer, you know!”
“Really? I thought you were a whining babe.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then tell me.” Michelangelo kept his back turned, making it easier for Bartholomew to speak.
“They all died, because of me.” Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as the whole story poured out. How he'd tried to trick Redbeard only to have it backfire when the pirate raided a ship. “None of it saved Mona Lisa. She is still in chains,” he finished with a sniffle.
“As long as shame and dishonor may last, it is my pleasure to sleep and even more to be stone.” He waited several moments before finally turning around.
Wiping a tear away with the back of his hand, Bartholomew looked into the older man's face. Michelangelo was right. It was exactly what he'd tried to do—sleep the pain away. Become stone. Forget his shame. But it didn't do any good. “I am so sorry.” His lips quivered.
“Tell me all.”
Bartholomew explained about Alex's mistrust, the prison, Gwen's escape, and finally his. Soon the shame wasn't so crippling.
&nb
sp; With that release, he even felt empowered. He could help his friends.
If only he acted in time.
Chapter 57
Musket balls sizzled over the Arsenale walls. “We're low on shot here,” a Condottieri cried.
Alex sprinted to the hot forge where he and Vulcan had been making weapons and ammunition. “More heat for musket balls!” he shouted, tossing handfuls of old nails into the spoon-shaped molds.
Vulcan stoked the fire with his bellows, while Alex closed the hinged bullet molds. They reminded him of Mom's waffle iron except here you put in something hard, like nails, and it turned soft. He shoved both forms into the furnace and waited for the lead to melt.
In real life, this process would have taken close to an hour, but in Artania, the musket balls were ready in a matter of seconds. Then, the young gunners called powder monkeys scooped up handfuls from the knee-high pile to deliver to the fort's soldiers.
“Where are they all coming from?” Alex asked, throwing more scrap metal in the forms.
“I don't understand it.” Vulcan shook his head. “A Shadow Swine has never been seen in Venice, much less attacked us.”
Leonardo looked up from the giant catapult he was inspecting. “People on Earth doubt us. Many have turned away.”
“But isn't that the way it's always been?” Alex dumped another bunch of musket balls onto the pile, then set to making cannon shot.
“Yes,” Leonardo agreed. “Earth has always had those who deny their creativity, but perhaps it wasn't caused by people in that realm.” He opened his mouth as if to say more but stopped.
“What?” Alex demanded.
“Events in Artania can also give Swineys power. Since the Deliverers are like two halves of a circle. If one mistrusts the other, their ripples of doubt can open cracks in our world.”
“You aren't telling me that what I did to Bartholomew caused more Swineys to come in?”
“I have seen it before,” Leonardo said. “Back in the nineteenth century, Monet was full of doubt, and we lost a whole village in the Alps.”
“I had to keep my friends safe.” Alex set his jaw firmly. He turned his back on Leonardo but still he felt the man's eyes boring into him.
Walking stiffly, he headed for one the ladders to the ramparts and climbed. Alex paced back and forth over the brick parapet, muttering, “What does he know? Has he seen someone nearly die?”
The battle was raging as far as the eye could see. Duels. Sword fights. Hand-to-hand combat. The flash of musket and cannon filled the darkening streets. The Shadow Swine's hunched backs looked even more grotesque under this eerie firework show.
In Saint Mark's Canal, the god Poseidon straddled two dolphins and raised his three-pronged trident to spurt triple waterspouts at the pirate ship. “Let Mona Lisa go!” his voice boomed.
Alex held his breath and waited. Would the pirates give up now? One minute passed, then two.
The explosion of cannon from the pirate's bow answered his question. “That's where I should be,” he muttered.
He thought he'd planned it so well; Apollo and Venus in the sky, Poseidon in the water, Leonardo and the other gods with him in the Arsenale. But never in a million years had Alex imagined so many Shadow Swine.
For hours, they'd tried to drive the hordes back, but as soon as a few would fall, ten more would take their place. Where were they all coming from?
Alex's mind raced. Swineys waited at every street and canal. There was no way to get near the Red Raven.
He glanced at what was supposed to be their secret weapon. Heck of a lot of good it was doing them just sitting in the courtyard.
Alex and Leonardo had molded it from the real da Vinci's design. The metal submarine-tank was about the size of Volkswagen bug with a glass top and four iron wheels attached to cranks. These worked like bicycle pedals with a rider cycling from the center seat.
Alex banged his forehead on the hull. Resting it there, he noticed the giant crossbow to his right. It was big enough to launch a car.
And it shot straight.
Turning on his heel, Alex put two fingers between his lips and let out a loud whistle. “Leonardo! Vulcan! Bring the crossbow. Quickly,” he called, not stopping to explain.
When the gigantic arrow was under the submarine, Alex gathered a few gods, some Condotierri, and Leonardo together. “If this works like I hope, it should land just short of the Red Raven. Once I'm under, cover me.”
Mars pounded his breastplate. “I will guard you myself.”
“While I fly to deliver messages,” Hermes said, a serious look replacing his usual smirk.
“Okay. Let's do it,” Alex said.
The gods stepped aside, and the Condotierri soldiers lifted the tank's glass lid. With a curt nod, Alex scrambled up the curved sides. When he lowered himself onto the metal floor, the searing heat made him cringe. He took three breaths, trying not to imagine he was on a pancake griddle.
After the soldiers bolted the top back into place, Alex gave his friends a thumbs-up. Bracing himself, Alex leaned back and placed his feet on the pedals. He cupped his hands into a megaphone shape. “Ready!” he cried.
The crossbow trigger released the bolt with a loud twang, acceleration throwing Alex's head back. His tank-sub climbed. He looked up at the moon shining through the domed window above.
Alex crossed his fingers. If their aim was off by just a few inches, he'd crash into the Arsenale wall.
For a moment, the tank was suspended in air. Alex held his breath. Then his stomach lurched, and he was plummeting. The tank hit the water with a splash, and although Alex was prepared for it, his head still banged against the seat. Rubbing his scalp, he watched the sea rise over him.
Deeper he went as seawater pooled around his feet. He glanced down. With an open floor, how high would water go? Leonardo said the domed top would make a pocket of air for breathing.
If it worked.
Soon his shoes and the back of his pants were soaked. Water splashed on the walls and trickled down the metal sides. Alex looked up at the fading stars as he descended farther. A soft thud told him he'd hit the sea floor.
The darkening sky cast long blue shadows, and a bright yellow moon rippled through the sea. Leonardo was right. There was air inside.
Alex decided to use the moon as a navigation marker. Since it rose in the east like the sun, he knew to keep it on his right. He hoped to head off Barbarossa's ship before they escaped.
But first he had to get this tank moving.
His feet splashed on the pedals, but it didn't move. Alex strained, pressing harder until he finally crept a few feet forward.
“Yes,” he cried feeling new energy course through his legs.
Then a spike-shaped shadow fell across the moon, and the dome darkened.
Alex blinked.
The pirate ship was heading his way.
Chapter 58
Gwen ran her fingers through now short hair, wondering why Sludge was keeping his end of the bargain. He stood in the center of the stone street and pointed. Following his finger, Gwen saw high walls and two square guard towers. A huge arched gateway with a roaring lion on top loomed between them.
At the notched battlements, Italian soldiers called out and scrambled into position. Crossbows and pistols were aimed.
The advancing Shadow Swine attacked like a cockroach horde, firing muskets and launching boulders from wooden catapults.
Gnarly battle. No wonder Alex was hurt, but she had to hand it to those Condotierri; they seemed to know what they were doing. A sudden flash lit up the evening sky. There was a boom, and a fiery ball shot over the ramparts. It leveled six Shadow Swine like a bocce ball over pins.
Gwen started to raise a triumphant fist but quickly lowered it so not to tick off their cruel leader, but when she glanced back, Captain Sludge was nowhere in sight. He had abruptly disappeared. Strange.
An oil lantern flickered to life above her. Gwen flinched. Then another. She'd have to be careful.
Crouching on all fours, she crab-crawled to a doorway. When there was enough musket smoke to cloud the street, she darted behind an overturned cart.
The winged lion roared again. Then a yowling horn bugled. Gwen peered between the cart's wooden slats and immediately wished she hadn't, for in the center of the street was a trumpeting elephant. This didn't look like any of the sweet elephants she'd seen at the Santa Barbara Zoo. It had a ridged back, sharp pointed tusks that dripped mud, and fiery red eyes. Its ears were off balance as if someone had yanked its right one through its skull. This left a tiny flap of skin on one side with a curtain of meat on the other.
Every Shadow Swine halted. As if hypnotized, they turned on their heels and marched off. Soon, their boots crunching sound receded.
Above. the Italian Condotierri exchanged confused glances. Gwen was just as bewildered. Then a horrible thought came to her. She was too late.
She didn't think. She just ran, tears streaming down her face. “Let me in! Let me in!” Gwen banged on the huge wooden door.
“Who goes there?” an Italian soldier called from the parapet above.
“I'm Alex's friend.” Gwen glanced up. “Open the door!”
“Perche?”
“I don't have time to explain. He needs me. Hurry!”
The soldier conferred with someone behind him for a moment. Gwen's leg twitched nervously. Please let him be okay.
“We-a let-a you in,” the soldier shouted down. “But be-a quick.”
Like a racer waiting for the starting gun, Gwen leaned back. When the great door creaked open just enough for her to squeeze through, she vaulted forward. She barely crossed the threshold when something hit the back of her knees. Her legs crumpled beneath her. Gwen fell against the door. “Idiot human,” a cloaked shadow hissed as it slipped past her.
“What?” Gwen muttered.
More dark legs poured past. They flooded the Arsenal with a single cry. “Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!”
Out front, Sludge pointed where to attack, his clawed fingertips glinting in the torchlight. Noble Condotierri fell right and left. Shadow Swine surrounded Leonardo and Vulcan. The god lifted a fiery brand and jabbed at the Swineys, but even he couldn't hold back the dark warriors.
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